The Girl In Art Class
by kiyoshi-wheeler16
Summary: He met her in art class, unwillingly and yet, he never felt the feeling of being so attached to someone who was never there.


He met her in art class, a class he highly hated Kairi for signing him up in. Well, it was his fault – it was their junior year, and he didn't know what to choose as an elective, so, Kairi decided to take control of his pencil and choose for him. Of course, she didn't sign herself up for the class, or Sora – they chose their own. But he was stuck in art. Art.

He wasn't the artsy type.

"I've always seen you through the hallways, and you always seem like your in some bad mood or you aren't the artistic type, so I guess it's strange seeing you in here." Why she was even talking to him, he didn't know, but she decided to take a seat next to him. She looked like she was in the sophomore class below him, and reached only to his chest, was petite and tiny with short blonde hair that fell over one shoulder, choppy bangs falling just above soft cerulean eyes.

She set her sketchpad down and scooted her chair to the table closer. "And you didn't seem like the social type to me," Riku Takahiro, seventeen years old, stated begrudgingly, leaning his head on the table, away from her, one hand on his neck.

Quietly, she laughed. "You're quite the anti-social one yourself."

"Exactly."

* * *

><p>Even after their first meeting in art class, their relationship grew. They started to talk more in class, and then even acknowledge each other outside of class. Sora and Kairi – Riku's best friends – realized this, and realized the more Riku talked about her, the more his aquamarine eyes shimmered like an excited child.<p>

It was a cold evening and the silver-haired junior was quite happy in his cozy, warm home, just about to doze off in front of his homework before he heard a knock at the front door. Blinking back sleep, he lifted up and rubbed his eyes, glaring out the window. "Who could it be?" he grumbled, but opened the door, surprised to see her there. The art-class girl.

"Hey."

"I wanted you to give me some opinion on this piece!" she stated, showing him the sketchpad, pencil wedged between her lips. "I just drew it and needed some of your wonderful expertise."

"Well, uh … come inside, it's cold out there." He was amazed she was able to walk all the way to his home, in the cold, in nothing but a simple, fitting, white, cotton dress and blue sandals.

"Oh, thank you then," she said with a smile, shrugging inside, past him, as he closed the door. He still held onto her sketchbook, the picture showing. She smiled, content, looking around the entryway of his small, but cozy home.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, but thank you. I'll be leaving soon anyway. I just wanted to get your opinion on this before I left." Riku watched her from the back for a while. Left? Maybe she just meant from his home to hers, like she came over quickly that's all.

Yeah. That's what it was.

"Okay – come into the living room then, and I'll look at this." In class they had learn how to critique art as if they were going to be going around to museums and doing so professionally, or write articles about it. They were told to get into groups or pairings and draw quick sketches, with certain details wrong about them, and the other was supposed to find out what. Riku and she had accomplished that easily, even though, Riku wasn't the _best_ artist.

They were soon in the living room, and sitting on the couch, the fire cracking in the hearth, flames dancing in reds and oranges. It was a bit nerve-racking, her sitting so close, trembling from the cold, but smiling confidently. Her hands were tiny as they pressed against the bottom of the couch, her feet rocking back in her forth. Was it possible for someone's skin to be so milky? And –

"Riku?"

"Oh, sorry," he grumbled, finally turning his eyes to the picture. It was breathtaking, as all of her works were, but this one was … different. It seemed familiar. Two people – male and female – sitting together, hand in hand, faces turned toward each other. It was viewed as if noticed from the back, their silhouettes slowly becoming one, the area around them darkened out – just them, only them.

"It's …" He turned to see the art-class girl, which he had never obtained her name. Why hadn't he? Did he like calling her that? Her large eyes stared up into his, waiting for his answer. Simply beautiful, that's what she was. "… simply beautiful," he stated breathlessly, eyes locked onto her face, even as she turned away, unknowing to his beating heart.

"You really think so?" she said with a soft smile, eyes soon locked with his. It was dangerous territory when that happened, but it was inevitable. Each closed their eyes, each leaned in fifty percent, and each made the art-class girl's sketch a reality – their lips met, pressed together, lightly, but tenderly, each acting as if they didn't want it to end.

But, when it did, she let her head fall and her lips intake a breath, Riku watching her silently. "Are you alright?"

She lifted her head and smiled up at him, eyes glassy with tears. "Y-Yes. I'm very alright."

* * *

><p>"<em>What's your name?" he whispered to her ear as he held her tightly, the fire crackling in the hearth.<em>

"_Namine," she whispered back, touching the fabric on his shirt gingerly with her fingers as her watery eyes closed._

* * *

><p>The next day, Riku was ecstatic with seeing the girl again, Namine, talking with her, being with her. He realized what it felt like to care for someone deeply, someone so simple but so unique, so <em>beautiful<em>. Namine. _Namine_. Her name made him smile.

"Well, you seem rather happy today," Sora stated toward his best friend as he leaned against his locker, folding his skinny arms, azure eyes. "Talking with that girl? You've got that look in your eye," Sora teased.

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Hm – well, tell me how it goes then." The spiky-haired brunette smiled and slapped his friend on the back. Riku nodded, grabbed his sketchbook and bag and closed his locker, smiling back. "Yeah, I will."

Taking his seat, Riku sighed and set his things down, drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk as he waited for her to enter in all her glory, wearing that simple white gown and blue sandals. He waited for her to greet him with her sweet smile and shimmering blue eyes. He waited for her to sit down next to him and start speaking of her drawings.

He waited, and she never came.

Class had started and Riku's thoughts were elsewhere the whole time. The seat next to him was empty. He felt empty. Where was his art-class girl, where was Namine, his artist, his … his everything? Closing his eyes, he set his head on his hand and waited for the period to be over – a hole in his heart formed, and he worried why. Everyone misses a day of class.

Right?

"Teacher." At the end of class, Riku stood at the teacher's desk, holding his bag over his shoulder.

"Yes, Riku?" she asked, smiling brightly as she stacked some papers. "Your artwork is getting much better, by the way."

"Thank you – but I was making sure you marked Namine absent, you forgot to call her name today."

"Namine?" the teacher seemed bewildered, and Riku stared at her as if she had a second head. "I've never called that name before."

_What? _"What are you …? _Namine_. She sat next to me every day in class. She was there, she – " The teacher continued to stare, and started to pick up the phone on her desk to call the office as Riku stumbled back, holding onto his bag strap with a trembling fist. Aquamarine eyes were wide, his heart beating rapidly.

_She's alive. She has to be._

And that's when he dashed out the door, to his home, to find her again.

* * *

><p>"<em>Since you liked this picture, Riku, I want you to have it."<em>

"_Thank you."_

* * *

><p>He tore through his items at home, panting heavily from running from the school. He tore through the sketchbooks he had gone through in art, his school papers, his notebooks, books, binders, closet, under his bed – where had he stuck that sketch? He knew he had set it someplace simple, but now he was frantic and couldn't find it. Where, where …<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>I have to leave now, Riku," Namine said with a sad smile, holding her hands in front of her.<em>

_"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow." Riku lifted a hand to gently touch her cheek and she smiled, turning into the touch. With no words, except a sad smile, she turned and headed towards the door._

* * *

><p>"Was she really … never alive? Was I just crazy?" he asked himself, yelling, tearing through his room, living room, kitchen, any place he had been that day when she came over, that day when they kissed, that day when she disappeared. That day when …<p>

There it was! Breathing heavily, he collapsed on the couch, clutching the sketch in his trembling hands. "No … no …" he panted, eyes wide, face sweaty and hair hanging in his eyes as they were glassy with confused, angry tears.

The sketch wasn't the same – it was one person, the male, his head turned toward where the female once was, but instead of someone being there it was air – no one, as if they'd been erased from memory. The male sat, expectantly waiting for someone to sit next to him, be with him, but no one was there. No one. Leaning his head back he clutched the sketch, feeling a cool air surround his body as he squeezed his eyes closed, wanting to forget it all.

Forget her. His simple beautiful Namine.

But he couldn't. There was no way he could forget such a beautiful, simple and radiant girl. "Where are you?" he whispered, calming down, heart not racing as quickly as possible. Opening his eyes, they fell on his sketchbook as it lay, thrown the side when he had stormed into his home to find her sketch.

He walked over to it and picked it up, flipping open to a blank page. He sat back down on the couch, took a deep breath, and started to draw. Head. Thin neck. Smooth shoulders. Slim arms. Small body; cotton dress; nimble fingers; soft hair; blue eyes; full lips; sweet smile. He smiled, softly, transfixed as his pencil scraped against the paper. His art class girl.

* * *

><p>"<em>But, before I go – promise me you'll draw me a picture sometime?" she asked, hesitating before the door and turned to smile at him. "I'd really … like it if you did."<em>

"_Okay. I __**promise**__."_

-...**fine**&

* * *

><p><span><strong>Authoress Notes:<strong>

So! I've had this ... un-cannon like obsession with Namiku, so, this was my first story on them. I'm planning on a second, more humorous one, as well. -nod- Ooooh, I like this one. I hope you all do to! Expect more outta' me. (winks)

Birita Mortensen

**Disclaimer  
><strong>  
>Namine, Riku, Sora, Kairi (c) <em>Square Enix<em>  
>Story ideaplot (c) _Me_


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